Happy Yule
by Princess Pinky
Summary: After the events of the holiday die down, Myka discovers how Helena spent her holiday. She also learns a few things about H.G. Wells that she didn't know before.


**A/N:** At first I thought the holiday special was pre-H.G. Wells, but then I saw someone point out on LJ that the shirts Claudia passed out to everyone prove that the episode was after H.G. had joined the team, yet she wasn't in the episode, which begs the question, where was Helena when everyone else was celebrating the holidays? So, this is my take on that. (And FYI, according to one of the WH13 writers, the holiday special takes place before "Vendetta," so this story also explains a certain look to a certain statement made by H.G. in "Buried." You know the ones I'm talking about.) Also, this is rated "T" because it gets a little descriptive at the end. Please enjoy…

_**Happy Yule**_

"Ah, the Original Yule Log," a pert British voice noted from the doorway.

Myka Bering looked up from a leather bound edition of Charles Dickens' _A Christmas Carol_, a gift from her parents that had arrived a few days earlier when she was still under the impression that she was going to go home and surprise them for the holidays. "HG!" she grinned, quickly setting her reading aside and motioning to the couch. "Yeah, it's great. Claud broke it out earlier. It's nice how as long as it's in the hearth, it stays lit. Too bad Artie won't let us have it out all year 'round, we could definitely use it in this blasted weather."

"I see you got quite a bit of snow," Helena noted with a nod.

"Yeah," Myka laughed. "Did you see our snowman? We fashioned him after Artie. We were going to make a Vanessa snowwoman, but it was getting too cold, so we're saving that for tomorrow. Care to join?"

"Not with the snowpeople," Helena smirked. "But certainly on the sofa, if you don't mind."

"Oh, no! Absolutely not." The younger agent moved over and eagerly patted the seat next to her. "Go right ahead. Where have you been, by the way? I wanted to give you a gift a few days ago and woke up to find your room empty. Leena said you'd taken a flight somewhere, but she didn't know-"

"I went home," Helena interrupted. "Back to my old home, I mean. In London. Call it sentimental, but this time of year just brings back so many memories."

"I hear ya," Myka nodded solemnly. "It's too bad you weren't here for our latest artifact, though."

"Oh?"

"A Christmas ornament made from a shell from the great Christmas Eve Ceasefire of World War One. Let me just say, it was one of the most aesthetically charming artifacts we've ever encountered."

"I'm sorry I missed it."

Myka shrugged. "Well, it sounds like you were where you needed to be this year. At least I hope. Did you have a good Christmas?"

"Actually," Helena grinned. "I celebrate Yule, myself. The Christian holiday was build on top of the Pagan one, you know." She motioned to the smoldering Yule Log. "That's just one example. The 'Christmas' tree and mistletoe are others." She shook her head in frustration. "Don't even get me started on the injustice of the patriarchal legacy demonizing its matriarchal roots."

Myka chewed her lip. "Alright," she nodded. "Well, how about some hot cider then? It should be done in just about-" She looked down at her watch and heard the timer blare from the kitchen. "Now!"

Helena folded her hands neatly in her lap. "That would be lovely, Myka. Thank you."

"I'll be right back," Myka chirped. "Make yourself comfortable."

The cushions sprang back up as Myka rose from her seat, forcing Helena to readjust herself. She spied the antique book Myka had been reading, then shifted her attention to the gold and crimson sparks fueling the never ending flame in the fireplace. She brushed a strand of dark hair behind her ear, then finally stood herself and followed Myka's trail to the kitchen. As she stepped inside, she suddenly felt two arms wrap around her and pull her close, embracing breasts on breasts and hot lips on lips.

When the kiss, as smoldering as the Yule Log, drew to a gasping end, Myka tore herself back, horrified. Her head immediately fell back and she realized that the Original Mistletoe was hanging above the doorway. Her cheeks burned hot as she cursed, _"Pete!"_

Helena sniggered. "The Original Mistletoe?" she asked, amused.

"I – I – I'm so sorry, Helena!" Myka squeaked, her eyes pleading. "It's very potent and Pete, he's been sneaking around hanging it up all over the place ever since Artie kissed Joshua, trying to get someone to kiss him or see who will end up kissing someone else. If I'd know he'd put it there, I would've taken it down! This is so embarrassing-"

"_Myka!"_ Helena interrupted, resisting the urge to laugh at the younger woman's frantic ramblings. "It's perfectly alright! It's not like you're the first woman I've ever kissed."

Myka's tongue grew numb in her mouth. Although she tried to ask, _what_ just came out, "W-w-w-w?"

Helena frowned slightly. "Certainly I'm not the first woman you've ever kissed, am I?"

Myka took a few steps back, smiling her familiar wide eyed, sheepish smile, still unable to use her tongue for anything she wanted to say, even if she'd known what she wanted to say at that point.

"_Oh."_ Helena realized, with a frown. "That's another thing you clearly didn't know about H.G. Wells, did you?" she laughed as she picked up the mugs of cider Myka had set down before she'd captured her beneath the pull of the mistletoe and motioned for Myka to join her at the table.

"But – but," Myka stuttered, finally breaking her muteness. "I thought you said…you had a daughter?"

"But of course!" Helena chortled. "I do. That doesn't mean I'm heterosexual though, does it? Why does everyone always forget that there is such a thing as bisexuality? Dichotomous thinking isn't healthy. I've had several female lovers."

Myka stared into her cup, feeling her cheeks enflamed. "Of course." She closed her eyes, refusing to look at the author as she asked her next question: "You thought I was bisexual?"

Helena sipped her cider quietly. "I never like to assume," she pointed out. "_But_…there is just something about you that, well…anyway, if you're not, that's fine too."

Myka ran her hand through her dark waves, finally getting the nerve to look the woman in the eyes again since her ravenous lip assault. "Can I ask you something?"

"Certainly."

"When did you first…you know…"

"Kiss a woman?"

"Know you liked a woman, in that way I mean?"

"I suppose I've just sort of always known. But growing up in Victorian England, that wasn't something you went around telling people about. I guess in a way, it's still not, but at least that aspect of life has changed since my time."

Myka nodded. "It's too bad that all people can't just be themselves. Even today, with all the progress we've made-"

"Progress?"

"Well, you know…social acceptance and all."

Helena leaned back in her chair. Although she didn't say anything, something in her eyes indicated she didn't share the same sentiment. "Things have certainly changed."

Myka picked up a cinnamon stick from a tray on the center of the table and began to stir her cider. "Do you have a preference?"

"On?"

"Women and men?"

Helena blew a puff of air between her lips, half laughing. "Perhaps I've been with a touch more women than men," she admitted. "They have softer skin, they're more attentive, easier on the eyes if you know what I mean."

"I kissed a girl and I liked it."

"Excuse me?" Helena asked, her eyes a bit wider than normal.

Myka flushed again. "I was just saying you reminded me of a Katy Perry song: 'Soft skin, red lips, so kissable…hard to resist, so touchable…too good to deny it…ain't no big deal, it's innocent…I kissed a girl and I liked it.'"

"I've never heard of this 'Katy Perry.'"

"Pete listens to her all the time," Myka shrugged.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Oh, well, of course…Sure. I mean, it's only fair."

"Do you have feelings for Agent Lattimer?"

"Me and Pete?" Myka echoed. She curled a strand of hair around her finger. "I mean, he's cute and all, but…he's _Pete_."

"So?"

"So…he has told me I'm beautiful on occasion. Well, one particular occasion, but he refused to talk about it afterwards."

"Do you think he has feelings for you? Is he sweet on you at all, even just a smidgeon?"

"Well, he has a thing for my breasts…but then again, he's a _guy_, so what do you expect, right?" She shook her head and nibbled slightly on the edge of her cinnamon stick. "And besides, he's got Kelly. I think he sees me as more of a sister, anyway."

Helena bowed her head, then stood and carried her empty mug to the sink, where she began to rinse it out. "Would you mind coming over here a moment?"

Myka easily acquiesced and took up a position beside Helena at the sink. "What do you need?"

Helena suddenly abandon the cup and placed her left hand onto Myka's thigh, trapping her against the edge of the counter. Then she slid one leg around Myka's and pressed their torsos together, before maneuvering her other hand to the back of Myka's head, which she entangled into her hair. She could tell the young woman was still processing what was happening, which was exactly as she predicated, so she used the moment to lean into Myka's lips, bending Myka backwards against the edge of the counter until her hand and Myka's head were pressed against the cabinet, halting them from moving back any further.

Myka instinctively closed her eyes, surrendering to Helena's smooth lips. She felt her mouth open, inhaling breath from Helena's mouth, then to her shock, she felt the author's tongue scrape against her teeth as it entered her mouth. Blindly, she grasped the edge of the counter for support as Helena's tongue explored her mouth. She hadn't experienced an honest to goodness French kiss since the end of high school and the experience was as new to her now as it had been then.

Helena arched her hand from Myka's waist to her backside, where she grasped the firm apple-roundness of the back of Myka's jeans and gave it a firm squeeze, urging Myka to grind a bit closer, if that was possible.

Feeling Helena's other hand curl tightly in her hair, Myka squirmed. Without consciously thinking about it, she lifted her left leg a few inches along the side of Helena's right leg and then pushed her hands away from the table to rest on the author's slender hips.

Feeling Myka's hands on her hips and leg on her own, Helena released the young woman – girl, really, by her standards – and took a step back, watching as Myka caught her breath. "I need to know," she mused, "are you attracted to _me_, Myka?"

Myka stuttered and fumbled over consonants and vowels, never quite finding a way to put them into a coherent semblance of words for at least five minutes. Finally, she managed to shake her head, causing her mussed hair to fall around her face. "I – I – I'm not attracted to women," she finally blurted out.

"Like you're not attracted to Pete?" Helena asked, raising her eyebrows.

"I – I'm not," she whispered, shaking her head.

Helena nodded. "Goodnight," she smiled. As she turned her back to Myka, she drew her tongue along her lips. "Happy Yule, Myka."

Her lips and tongue and even her teeth were still tingling by the time Myka found the strength to finally leave the kitchen and return to the fireplace, where Dickens just didn't have the appeal that it once had anymore. She sat down, her seat now cold, and stared into the licking Yule flames. "Happy Yule, Helena."


End file.
